Hypocrite
by RhondaStar
Summary: A short piece set after series 2, episode 4 - so spoilers! Elsie Hughes reflects on a recent action she took concerning Ethel and discusses it during an intimate moment with Mr Carson.


_**My first Carson/Hughes story - so be kind, I'm still getting to know them!**_

_**Set after series 2, episode 4 - I found her line incredibly funny when she discovered Ethel in the 'compromising position' but still it got me thinking... she seemed so scandalised by it I took 2 trains of thought; 1 being that she would never sleep with Carson outside of wedlock, the other being this story... :-)**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own a think and make money from it - just having fun**_

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><p><strong>Hypocrite<strong>

"I'm a complete hypocrite," Elsie said, lifting her chin up a little as he leant over her, his head buried against her still-heaving chest. She sighed, her right palm resting against his bare back and slowly rubbing his skin.

He was docile against her; always like this when they'd finished making love. Usually she enjoyed the moment, still and peaceful in the aftermath. He was completely relaxed and it was for a brief moment that she could let go and simply be 'Elsie', not Mrs Hughes. Only now, it felt rather odd.

"Charles," she said a little more forcefully, "are you listening to me?" The hand that had gently rubbed his shoulder now tapped it more insistently.

"Mmm," he mumbled against her breast, "yes, why a hypocrite?"

"Because we're here."

"And it's marvellous," he said with a throaty chuckle, squeezing her waist and snuggling impossibly closer. They'd discovered they could get away with using the tiny attic room only a few months ago when it had been commandeered for storage, the many pieces of furniture offering something of a dampener against any noise they might make. Besides, the floor was considerably bigger and more comfortable than doing it on either of their tiny beds or even the small couch in her sitting room.

A fleeting smile passed her features, she dipped her head to kiss his hair, he smelt of soap and something intensely Charles that she'd never quite been able to label, despite their many years together.

"It's wrong."

"We dealt with_ that_ particular concern years ago," he sighed, quite happy to remain in blissful silence with her companionship, slowly slipping into a welcome sleep – at least for a few hours.

"I didn't mean... this..." she stumbled, searching for the appropriate word. It made him smile, despite everything she was still the more prudish of them when it came to their relationship.

"I've asked you to marry me a hundred times."

"Not quite."

He lifted his head up a little to look up at her, eyes heavy with sleep. "Almost."

She smiled warmly, his pout endearing. Reaching forward she stroked her fingertips down his cheek, "Almost, and I've told you _one _day, but not now, I'm not quite ready to leave Downton and set up home."

"They might let us stay." He offered hopefully.

"And they might not," she responded deadpan.

She rested her hand on his shoulder again until he settled back down, his body heavy and intoxicating against hers.

"So," he asked, a little more awake now. "Why a hypocrite?"

"Because..." she chewed down on her bottom lip. "Here we are, finding an empty attic room full of furniture cleared out of the main house..."

"Yes, and over the past few months it's proved quite the god send."

"So flippant," she mumbled, resting her chin against his head. "I was furious tonight," her voice hardened at the memory.

"I had noticed," he snorted, "took me ages to win you round."

"I almost wished we hadn't arranged to meet."

"Elsie!" He said, mock-scandalised, "I did wonder if you'd changed your mind, you were late."

"I discovered something I shouldn't on the way up."

"Oh?"

Her fingers were tapping his shoulder again; he reached up, stilling her hand, kissing her chest before moving to lie beside her, pulling her body against his.

"Do you want to tell me?" He whispered by her ear.

"Not in detail, but Ethel won't be joining us for breakfast ever again."

He raised his head now, looking over her shoulder to her face, shadowed in the dim light.

"I don't wish to discuss it more than that, I've dismissed her. And now..." her voice dropped again, her glance moving to their entwined hands, where his fingers tenderly stroked hers.

"And now?" he asked gently, mindful of how to handle Elsie Hughes after many, many years of discovery.

"I feel, no, I am a hypocrite. Doing the same thing up here with you."

He gave her a minute before responding, keeping his voice low, almost a whisper. "It isn't the same. If you're implying what I think you are about Ethel, then it isn't the same. I've noticed the way she's been carrying on with that soldier too, this, _us_, a very different thing."

"How?" She turned in his arms, facing him, one of her legs moving between his. "We're sneaking around in the middle of the night hiding out in storage spaces. At our age!"

He laughed, reached to touch her face, stroked back the loose curls that had fallen free from tight-imposed style she wore. "I doubt Ethel is in love, and our resident soldier, definitely not."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "Go on..."

"And," he pulled her tighter against him; the autumn chill had a secure hold on the weather now. "And they haven't spent almost twenty years loving each other, trying to steal the odd moment alone, waiting and waiting and _waiting_ for the right moment to finally consummate it without feeling incredibly guilty." He kissed her head, "And you don't feel that do you?"

"Not for a long time."

"Good. Then, you aren't a hypocrite, this isn't the same, we aren't the same."

She snuggled against him, resting her head against his broad chest and closing her eyes. "Thank you."

"For speaking the truth?"

"For many, many things, one of them being that you always speak the truth. I don't think I could have found a more honourable man, so you're correct, this isn't the same."

She yawned, the long day catching up with her.

"Twas nice to hear you sing earlier," he said into the stillness.

She smirked, "I'm sure."

"You have a sweet voice." He tugged at the sheets that lay over them, pulling them up higher to cover her bare shoulder. "And you're the only girl in the world..."

"Hardly a girl anymore."

"To me, always."

"You get more sentimental as you get older, but the feeling is reciprocated."

"Even with all these strapping young soldiers around?"

She gave his chest a light slap, "Now Charles, you know I've always been drawn to a very different kind of uniform."

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><p><em><strong>I hope you enjoyed this snippet of a story - please let me know what you thought and I might write more!<strong>_


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